


Carry Us Home

by fen-ha-fuck-you (abldav)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Attempt at Humor, Band Fic, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Flashbacks, Lexa is the antagonist, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Clarke Griffin/Lexa, Slow Burn, Social Media, Sorry Not Sorry, Strong female friendship, There will be other pairings eventually, mentions of past emotional abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-09-27 09:17:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9996629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abldav/pseuds/fen-ha-fuck-you
Summary: “You did what?” Murphy questioned, raising his eyebrows.Bellamy sighed as the two men sat at the small metal table outside Arkadia, their favorite cafe. “I’ve told you this four times, Murphy.”“No, I know you signed a contract officially securing a spot in America’s hottest new girl band,” Murphy said sarcastically through bites of his overpriced sandwich. “I’m just trying to wrap my head around the fact that the most cautious man I’ve ever met—that’s you, by the way—decided to make a life-changing decision without so much as sleeping on it first.”A.K.A. The Band AU no one really asked for ft. music accompaniment.





	1. Fall In Line

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to my betas, [Savannah](http://for-the-grey-wardens.tumblr.com/) and [Annie](http://clarkescrusade.tumblr.com/). Y'all keep me writing.
> 
> Important Note: In this fic, Lexa is not a good person. Like, she is one of the main sources of strife. If you have a problem with that, you probably shouldn't read this.
> 
> The title of this fic is from both [Smokestacks by LAYLA](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UPY6Pxvl9UI) and [Carry Me Home by Sohn](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=anxWSeSLVUI).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's title comes from [Porcelain by Rachel Taylor](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=35scpIyOHCs).
> 
> Coincidentally, this song is also one of my chosen songs in 182 Days' first album.

__

 

_I really fucking hate this job_ , Bellamy thought to himself, wiping down the grimy bar for what felt like the hundredth time that evening. He began to announce final call when the bittersweet chords of Guns ‘n Roses’s _Sweet Child O’ Mine_ erupted from his shirt pocket.

Bellamy scrambled to silence his phone, muttering a curse under his breath. He froze when he caught sight of the caller ID before shouting at Murphy to close up and stepping outside.

“O?”

“Bell, thank god,” Octavia said from the other end of the line, sighing in relief.

“What’s going on? It’s almost three in the morning.”

“I know.” A pause. “Oh, god, you’re working aren’t you? Shit, I’m sorry Bell, I didn’t think.”

“It’s fine O, seriously.” He heard what sounded like muffled arguing and dull thuds in the background, but before he could ask Octavia started again.

“Okay, listen, can you come to my place as soon as your shift is over? Please? It’s important.”

Bellamy’s brows shot up. It wasn’t unheard of for Octavia to ask him for a favor, but it wasn’t exactly common either. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. I’ll be there in fifteen.”

“Thank you so much, you’re a lifesaver.”

Before Bellamy could respond, Octavia hung up, leaving Bellamy to wonder what exactly was going on.

 

* * *

 

Five minutes earlier than he said he’d be, Bellamy’s cab pulled up outside Octavia’s brand new apartment. He absently handed cash through the cab’s window and took a minute to admire the absurdity of it all.

A little over two years ago, Octavia put her education on the back-burner to start up a band with some of her friends—a concept Bellamy was obviously more than a little concerned about. Then again, his sister insisted on paying her own way through college, so Bellamy had little room to bargain.

Eight months and countless unpaid coffee shop gigs later, 182 Days—the band name that Bellamy still didn’t quite understand—was approached by a manager named Indra. Shortly after, Bellamy’s sister was off on a fourteen-month-long national tour which gifted not only a sizable paycheck, but a healthy cult following that stretched from coast to coast.

Octavia had been back in the city for about a month, and Bellamy had seen her more than a handful of times since. She insisted on him crashing at her place after their visits more often than not—not that Bellamy was complaining. Staying in an apartment in midtown Manhattan wasn’t exactly what he’d call a hardship.

Bellamy pushed through the heavy revolving glass door and nodded a greeting at the receptionist—Riley—before pressing the elevator button and ascending to Octavia’s apartment.

He heard them before the doors even opened.

“—don’t give a _fuck_ what you do Lexa, just get the hell out!” The door to an apartment slammed shut, followed by the loud footfalls of a very angry individual exiting the scene. Bellamy stepped out of the elevator, holding his arm out to stop the doors from closing. The brunette, who he vaguely recognized as Octavia’s bandmate, gave him a cursory nod before jamming her finger against the button for the lobby.

Bellamy mentally steeled himself for whatever hell he was about to walk into and knocked on his sister’s door. It creaked open a smidgen and he saw Octavia’s green eye peeking through. “Is she gone?”

“Yeah,” Bellamy smirked. “Now are you going to explain, or do I have to guess?”

Octavia opened the door the rest of the way and waved him inside. He paused on the doorstep for a moment, not expecting the rest of Octavia’s band to be occupying her living room.

“I’d ask how everyone’s doing, but…” Bellamy trailed off, continuing inside and noting Raven’s tense fidgeting and Clarke’s agitated pacing. The latter shot him a dark look, and Bellamy snapped his mouth shut. After a few moments of silence where Octavia came to a stop by his side, he continued. “Okay, I’m here. What the hell?”

Octavia glanced at Clarke. The blonde gave a small nod and turned to face the window, her arms crossed. His sister sighed, then spoke. “Lexa and Clarke broke up.”

Clarke scoffed. “Lexa cheated on Clarke, so _Clarke_ broke up with _her_ ,” Octavia corrected.

“I’m sorry,” Bellamy said, directing the sentiment toward Clarke. She didn’t reply. He shot a questioning glance at his sister, who then continued.

“As soon as Clarke told us what happened, we called an emergency meeting. Lexa’s out.”

“Well, that explains the yelling,” Bellamy said matter-of-factly.

“The thing is…” Octavia began, looking at her friends in turn. She turned back to Bellamy. “Indra managed to get us a shot at another tour. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, but we were supposed to keep quiet about it. It’s an incredible opportunity, Bell. We really couldn’t wish for anything better.” Octavia shook her head, almost in disbelief.

“What? That’s fantastic, O!” Bellamy grinned.

She offered a small smile in return which quickly faded. “Yeah. Except we just fired our lead guitarist.”

“Well, that’s easily fixed. I’ll help set up auditions if you need me to and we can—”

“There’s no time,” Clarke interrupted, finally turning back around. “We’re supposed to sign our contracts in the morning.”

“The morning as in _today_?” Bellamy asked, his eyes wide.

Clarke nodded. “If we don’t have a guitarist by the time we go in, they won’t let us sign at all. It was part of the label’s deal with Indra to get us this opportunity in the first place.”

“Can’t _you_ play?”

“I can,” Clarke replied, blinking in surprise. “But I don’t count. At least, not insofar as the label is concerned.”

“They prefer the lead vocalist to _just_ vocalize,” Raven said bitterly. Clarke shot her a small, amused smile.

Bellamy crossed his arms, deep in thought. The sudden silence seemed to drag on forever. When he looked up, all three women were looking at him hopefully. “What?”

“ _You_ can play, Bell,” Octavia offered, somewhat hesitantly. “I remember that garage band you used to have with Murphy. You were good.”

“Wait,” Bellamy said, looking at them each in turn. “You’re… asking _me_ to join your band?” They all nodded at him, except for Clarke. “Even you?”

Clarke paused for a moment, then looking away, gave one distinct nod.

“I… don’t know what to say.”

“You’ve heard the songs,” Raven offered. “You’d just need to play them. Everything else is a learning experience for all of us.”

When he didn’t reply, Clarke spoke up. “You’ll be paid the same as Lexa would’ve been.” Bellamy’s head shot up. “You’ll get a cut of sales, merch, anything we get for branding or interviews. It’s not a favor, Bellamy. It’s a job. Once you sign that contract.”

Bellamy thought about it. The dingy uptown walk-up he shared with Murphy. The greasy bar he dreaded entering. The demanding glares of every arrogant regular that somehow thought they were his superior since he was the one stuck behind the bar. It wasn’t the life he wanted for himself.

In high school, he dreamed of being a musician. He planned out his whole future around it. He’d work part-time to save up for college, then work to get his bachelor’s and—if he was lucky—master’s degree. Find a theater, club, or agent to continue playing and go from there.

Needless to say, all that changed. The most music he could fit between trying to graduate and taking care of his sister was what was essentially two guys sitting in a room and jamming. Somewhere along the way, he stopped dreaming and just started surviving.

If he was being honest, he was a little jealous of Octavia. They had always shared a love of music—Octavia insisted on sitting in whenever he used to play. Once, she asked him to teach her some chords. After an unnerving incident involving guitar lessons, Octavia’s temper, and a lamp-shaped dent in their wall, Bellamy invested in a cheap set of drums he found on eBay.

As it turned out, she was a natural.

But while Octavia’s talent turned to fame, Bellamy’s turned to… nothing in particular. He wasn’t bitter—he was proud of Octavia, and happy things were going well for her. He just wished after everything he’d been through, life would throw him a bone. Maybe, after all this time, it was.

“Okay. I’m in.”

 

* * *

 

“You did _what_?” Murphy questioned, raising his eyebrows.

Bellamy sighed as the two men sat at the small metal table outside Arkadia, their favorite cafe. “I’ve told you this four times, Murphy.”

“No, I know you signed a contract officially securing a spot in America’s hottest new girl band,” Murphy said sarcastically through bites of his overpriced sandwich. “I’m just trying to wrap my head around the fact that the most cautious man I’ve _ever_ met—that’s you, by the way—decided to make a life-changing decision without so much as sleeping on it first.”

Bellamy sighed again, running his hand through his hair. “I guess… it’s different.”

“What the hell does _that_ mean?”

“I’m tired, Murph. My life is the same shit over and over again. I’m tired of knowing what’s gonna happen next. I’m tired of seeing the same people every damn day.” Murphy shot him a scandalized look, his hand flying to his heart. “I’m talking about the bar, Murphy, not you. Get over yourself.”

“And this has absolutely nothing to do with the hot blonde?”

“Who, Clarke?”

“Ah,” Murphy said, nodding his head in victory. “So, you admit she’s hot.”

“Of course she’s hot. I have properly functioning eyes, Murphy. But—to answer your question—no, this has nothing to do with her.”

“Of course it doesn’t,” Murphy said, mimicking Bellamy’s serious tone.

“What are you implying?”

“Every time you have a conversation with this girl, it turns into an argument, and you end up hot and bothered.”

“I take offense to that.”

“And I _know_ this,” Murphy said, continuing as if Bellamy hadn’t spoken, “because after every argument, who’s the person you rant about it to? Oh, yeah. _Me_.”

Bellamy just shook his head and took a sip of his coffee.

“What I’m saying is, I’d better hear all about whatever shenanigans you get up to. I’m too invested in this impending trainwreck of a relationship.” Murphy grinned, showing off a piece of lettuce wedged between his teeth.

“I’ll make sure to call you twice a week,” Bellamy smirked. A pause. “Unless you want to come with us.”

“ _What?_ ”

Bellamy shrugged. “I’m allowed to hire a personal assistant.”

“I refuse to be your slave. No matter how much you pay me.”

“Well, first, if I’m paying you it’s not slavery.” Murphy rolled his eyes. “And second, I’m not asking you to do anything. You’d essentially be paid to hang around musicians all day and travel the country.”

“Oh,” Murphy said, pursing his lips in consideration. “In that case.” Murphy extended a hand for Bellamy to shake. He smiled.

“Welcome aboard.”

 

* * *

 

 

* * *

 

“I’m not going to apologize,” Clarke said, entering Marcus Kane’s office the next morning and sitting in one of the large, cushy chairs across from his desk. The rest of the band followed her into the room, making themselves comfortable.

The man in question sighed, his thumb and pointer finger massaging the bridge of his nose. “I’m not here to tell you what to do, Clarke. I’m here to  _advise_ ,” Marcus said, walking around to the front of his desk. “And in my  _professional_ opinion, your tweet was  _not_ a PR disaster. Far from it, actually.”

“Wait, what?” Octavia asked from her perch on the back of Clarke’s chair.

Marcus gave a small smile. “You’ve all been asked to make an appearance on Informed Celebrity Entertainment Tonight.”

“ _What?_ ” Raven shouted, at the same time Clarke and Octavia’s mouths dropped open.

“I feel like I’m going to be yelled at for asking this,” Bellamy said quietly, “but… what is that?”

Raven turned on him in an instant. “ _You don’t know what ICE Tonight is?_ ”

“I don’t watch a lot of TV, Reyes,” Bellamy said, annoyed.

“ICE Tonight,” Marcus supplied helpfully, “is a late night television show hosted by Roan Agaze. It’s been gaining a lot of popularity recently. It would be the perfect time to announce Bellamy’s addition, and,” Marcus turned to Clarke, “discuss Lexa’s departure.”

“I’m not talking about my break-up on TV, Marcus.”

“You don’t have to. You can answer Roan’s questions however you want, you can spin this however you want, but the whole reason you’re going on the show in the first place is because of it. You’ll need to address it. Just, please, for me,” Marcus said, interlacing his fingers, “try not to cause an incident.”

“If she doesn’t, I will,” Raven said, smiling up at him innocently.

“You’re on Monday’s show,” Marcus said, shooting Raven a warning look. “Now go, enjoy your weekend.”

 

* * *

 

That evening, naturally, the group went to celebrate.

“C’mon, Clarke, have a drink,” Raven begged. “Live a little!”

“She said no, Raven, back off,” Bellamy interjected.

“Please?” Octavia said, extending the vowels and ignoring Bellamy completely.

Clarke sighed. “I’ll have  _one_. For you. But I need to stay at least relatively sober. I want to start working on some new songs.”

“Yay!” Octavia squealed, as she and Raven pranced over to the bar, leaving Clarke and Bellamy alone at the small table. Clarke shook her head in exasperated admiration.

“You’ve gotta give them credit. When they want something, they don’t give up.”

“Yeah,” Bellamy agreed, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. “Reminds me of someone else I know.”

Clarke let out a short laugh. “I guess.”

“You _guess_ ?” Bellamy said, raising his eyebrows and turning to face her fully. “Clarke, you went from ‘broke college student working full-time to make ends meet’ to ‘one of America’s most promising rising stars.’ And those aren’t my words. That was in _People_.”

“You read _People_?”

“I do when my little sister is on the cover.”

“That’s fair. But it wasn’t so much dedication driving me as it was spite.”

“What do you mean?”

Clarke just looked at him, her smile growing. “You don’t remember?”

“Remember what?”

“What you did after Octavia told you she was joining a band.”

 

* * *

 

_Clarke was in the middle of cleaning out the espresso machine when the door to the Polis Coffee Shop burst open, the angry_ ding  _of the bell hanging above it echoing through the empty store._

_Clarke looked up, her customer-service face hardening into a scowl when she saw Bellamy glaring at her from across the room. “We’re closed.”_

_“Then you should’ve locked the door.”_

_“It’s against policy,” Clarke said, sliding the piece she’d been cleaning back into place. “What do you want, Bellamy?”_

_“I heard you’re starting a band,” Bellamy said, crossing his arms._

_“Yeah. And?”_

_“_ And _Octavia is a part of that band.”_

_Clarke just looked at him blankly in response._

_“_ And  _she’s dropping some of her classes to do it._ And _she’s giving up on her education to follow a pipe dream.”_

_Clarke scoffed. “Okay, first of all, she’s_ not  _giving up on her education. She was taking eighteen credits this semester, Bellamy. She’s allowed to lessen her load. Secondly, pipe dream or not, she’s got talent. And third,” Clarke continued, emerging from behind the counter and stepping into Bellamy’s personal space. He raised his chin, tensing his jaw. Clarke smirked as she lowered her voice. “Octavia is twenty years old. She’s more than capable of making her own decisions. You’re not her keeper.”_

_“What kind of an example are you setting?” Bellamy said, gritting his teeth together._

_Clarke’s brows knitted together. “Example? I’m not her role model, Bellamy. I’m her friend.”_

_“You know what?” Bellamy said, backing away and raising his hands. “Fine. Do it. Make your band. You won’t last six months.”_

_“Watch us.”_

 

* * *

 

“Holy shit, I completely forgot about that,” Bellamy said, burying his face in his hands.

Clarke laughed, a sound which definitely did  _not_ make Bellamy feel warm and fuzzy inside for eliciting. “Yeah, well,” she began, “I consider us even.”

“I suppose I should thank you,” Bellamy said, raising his head.

“For offering you a spot in this lovely little pipe dream?” Clarke smirked.

“That too,” Bellamy said, smiling. “More for not telling Octavia about that particular argument. I’d have never heard the end of it.”

“In that case, don’t. I told her immediately.”

“What?”

“Calling ourselves ‘182 Days’ was her idea.”

“You lost me.”

“Bellamy,” Clarke said, trying to hold back laughter. “How long is six months?”

“I don’t—”

“A hundred and eighty-two point five days,” Octavia supplied, returning with Raven and setting the drinks down on the table. “Give or take.”

Bellamy stared at his sister, mouth agape. Raven smirked at him.

“That is the single most petty thing I have ever heard,” he said.

“Welcome to the club,” Raven said, raising her beer in a toast. “Rise to our level of petty or get the fuck out.”

“Hear, hear!” Octavia exclaimed, clinking her bottle against Raven’s.

Clarke reached for her drink when her phone vibrated in her pocket. A text from Marcus, followed by a link.

 

 

“You’ve gotta be _fucking_ kidding me,” Clarke said, her friends looking at her in confusion. She raised her phone to show them the tweet Marcus had sent her.

 


	2. I'm Awake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please note the added tags. Also, if you aren't already, the songs that I recommend for chapters/sections of this fic are very important for the atmosphere of the story and development/feelings of the characters themselves. Enjoy :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, 4x10 was intense. Anyway, sorry for the delay. I'm not gonna lie to you, these updates will probably be sporadic. 
> 
> There are two songs for separate sections of this chapter, and half of one for the end. It'll make sense when you get there. 
> 
> The first song is [here.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bQqUYFjcyOc)

 

Clarke angrily shoved her key into the lock of her apartment and pushed the door open, her friends following cautiously behind her.

“Clarke,” Raven said, grabbing her arm and turning the blonde to face her. “I think you might be overreacting a little here.”

Bellamy scoffed under his breath. “A _little_.” Octavia elbowed him in the ribs.

“I’m _really_ not,” Clarke replied, yanking her arm back and dropping her bag onto one of the plush gray chairs in her living room.

“Were we honestly expecting anything else, though?” Octavia piped in. “Roan is a gossipmonger. A popular one, sure, but his show _thrives_ on drama. It kinda makes sense that he’d get Lexa, too.”

“I can’t fucking believe this,” Clarke muttered under her breath, tossing her keys in the bowl on the kitchen counter.

“I’m sorry,” Bellamy said, annoyed. “You can’t believe what, _Princess_ ? That someone besides _you_ would be invited onto a talk show?”

Raven and Octavia stiffened, looking between Clarke and Bellamy anxiously. Clarke slowly turned to look at him, a fiery gleam in her blue eyes. She gritted her teeth but said nothing.

“Lexa’s going on some late night TV show, too,” Bellamy continued. “What the _fuck_ does it matter? You’ll be able to have your say in a couple of days, anyway, _as always_.”

“Wow, you really really think you have me all figured out, don’t you?” A humorless smile found its way onto Clarke’s face. “Tell me something, Bellamy,” she said, a harsh edge creeping into her voice as she started towards him. “What do you think she said today? In the interview with Roan, I mean, when they were recording. What did she say?”

“Her side of whatever happened between you, I’m assuming,” Bellamy replied simply, his arms crossed and his chin held high. “It’s really _not_ that big a deal, Clarke.”

“Oh, my mistake!” Clarke exclaimed sarcastically, stopping right in front of him. “Of course! You’re completely right! She _definitely_ went on national television and told everyone we kicked her out because I _walked in on her fucking another woman_.” She dropped the sarcastic edge at the end, her voice turning to hot anger.

Bellamy’s mouth opened and closed a few times, his eyes widening.

“And not just any woman. No, she was fucking her PA. Her personal _fucking_ assistant. And you know what makes it even worse?” Clarke leaned in, her face inches from his, and her voice dropping into a dangerous calm. “This was going on for a _year_ . _At least_ . She spent a _third_ of our relationship fucking someone else. So it is a big deal, Bellamy. Maybe not to you. But it’s a big deal to _me_.”

Clarke backed away, her face expressionless save for a single tear trailing down her cheek. Then she left, walking into what Bellamy assumed was her bedroom, and slammed the door.

Octavia turned to him, her expression stoic, and raised an eyebrow. “Nice.”

* * *

 

* * *

It was a half hour before Raven eased her way into Clarke’s room. She lied face-up on the bed beside her, their shoulders pressed against each other, saying nothing. Raven grabbed Clarke’s hand, intertwining their fingers and squeezing gently. Clarke squeezed back.

A while later, Octavia texted Raven asking for dinner requests. It wasn’t until the two women heard Clarke’s apartment door open and close, signaling the Blakes’ temporary departure, that Raven spoke up.

“He didn’t know.” Raven had whispered, but the sudden conversation after more than an hour of silence seemed to echo around the room.

“I know,” Clarke whispered back, her voice rough from emotion and disuse.

“I’m not saying he should have said what he said,” Raven clarified, turning her head to finally look at her friend.

“I know,” Clarke repeated, staring at the ceiling.

“And neither should I,” Raven added, squeezing their entwined hands again for emphasis.

Clarke looked at her.

“I shouldn’t have said you were overreacting. God knows, you never said that to me after Finn. I should’ve realized how hard this was hitting you. I’m sorry.”

Clarke gave her a small smile and squeezed her hand in silent forgiveness. They both looked back at the ceiling.

“I don’t…,” Clarke started, the words escaping her before she’d fully thought through what she was going to say. “I’m not good at dealing with my own emotional shit. It’s hard for me. And I feel like it just got a _million_ times harder.”

“I know what that’s like,” Raven replied. “After Finn, I… well, you know. I didn’t have anyone. Anyone I could be completely vulnerable with.” Raven looked over at Clarke again. “As shocking as it was at the time, _you_ became that person for me. You’re the rock, Clarke. You’re the person everyone goes to. But that doesn’t mean _you_ don’t need support. You need a rock, too. You just need to find them.”

“How do I… do that, though?”

“Fuck if I know.”

Clarke smiled.

* * *

 

* * *

 

With twenty minutes left until Lexa’s interview, Clarke, Raven, Octavia, and Bellamy sat around Clarke’s living room scraping the remnants of chicken fried rice and lo mein from their respective take-out containers. The upbeat rhythms of Octavia’s favorite early-2000’s pop playlist floated throughout the apartment, drowned out by laughter.

“So that’s how I got banned from Octavia’s gym,” Bellamy concluded, shrugging nonchalantly.

“They _banned_ you?” Raven exclaimed, leaning forward for emphasis.

“More like, very politely asked me never to return, but I took it to mean essentially the same thing.”

“I didn’t think it was fair either,” Octavia said, shooting Bellamy a validated smirk.

“Yeah, well, I did punch the guy out,” he reasoned.

“You were protecting your sister,” Clarke said with a shrug. “Plus, I’m pretty sure he’ll never grab some random girl’s ass ever again.”

“I’d just like to point out,” Octavia interjected, “that I had him on the floor before Bellamy even got there.”

“At least the kickboxing lessons are being put to good use,” Raven said. “I told you they’d be worth it, didn’t I?”

Clarke started gathering the empty containers from the coffee table as her friends continued their conversation. To her surprise, Bellamy cleared his side of the table and followed her into the kitchen to throw them away.

“Thanks,” Clarke said off-hand, standing up on her tiptoes to open a cabinet.

“It’s not a problem. Look, Clarke…”

“Movie Theater or Butter Lovers?”

Bellamy blinked. “What?”

“Popcorn. Do you have a preference?” Clarke looked back at him over her shoulder, her eyebrows raised.

“Why?”

She turned to face him. “You were a decent human for over an hour and I promised popcorn. So.” She held up two unopened bags. “Movie Theater or Butter Lovers?”

“Uh, Movie Theater, I guess?”

“Good choice.” Clarke unwrapped the bag and placed it in the microwave. “You were saying?”

“Yeah. Clarke… I owe you an apology.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Bellamy,” Clarke said, keeping her back to him.

“Yeah, actually, I do. I—”

“I don’t want your pity, okay?” Clarke turned suddenly. “I’ve been through the, ‘Oh, poor Clarke’s been cheated on, boo-hoo,’ bullshit before. It’s exhausting and I don’t want it in my life again. You didn’t know how fucked the situation is. I shouldn’t have expected you to, and I shouldn’t have snapped at you about it. So… I’m not holding it against you. You don’t owe me anything.”

“You’re right,” Bellamy said quietly. “I didn’t know what happened. But I still owe you an apology.” Clarke opened her mouth to respond, but Bellamy cut her off. “Please, just… let me get this out. We’ve known each other for, what? Almost four years, now? Well, ever since we met, I’ve had this habit of assuming the worst about you. And… that’s what happened today. I assumed you were upset because it wasn’t all about you anymore. So, when I say I’m sorry, I’m not saying it out of pity, and I’m not saying it because of what’s going on in your life. I’m saying it because I was wrong about you. I was wrong today, and, as Octavia very enthusiastically pointed out to me, I’ve _been_ wrong for the past almost-four years. So, Clarke… I’m sorry.”

Clarke blinked, taken aback. “Thank you.”

Bellamy held out his hand. “Truce?”

Clarke huffed out a laugh and extended her hand in return. “Truce.”

The microwave beeped behind her and Clarke jumped in surprise, muttering a curse under her breath. Bellamy grinned.

“Anything I can do to help?”

“Yeah, actually,” Clarke said, pouring the popcorn into a large bowl. “If you could grab the wine from the fridge and some glasses from that cabinet that would be awesome.”

“Wine and popcorn,” Bellamy said, opening the fridge. “Classy. Why not beer? Or… I dunno. Vodka? What does one normally drink when watching an ex lie about their relationship on national television?”

Clarke smirked. “If I’m watching this interview I need to be a very _specific_ kind of tipsy.”

* * *

 

* * *

 

_“Please welcome tonight’s special guest… Lexa Leeds!”_

 

“Ugh, boo!” Octavia heckled, sticking her middle finger up at the TV from her chosen viewing spot in front of the couch and between Raven’s legs.

“Save some for later, Octagon,” Raven said, patting Octavia’s head lovingly. “One minute down, fifty-nine, minus commercial breaks, to go.”

“Shove it up your ass, Rainbow,” Octavia replied, craning her neck to look backward at her friend. “I’ve got rage for days.”

Bellamy turned the volume up as Roan and Lexa sat and the audience’s applause died down.

Clarke took a sip of her wine.

 

_"Hello, Lexa. Welcome to ICE Tonight,” Roan began, all charm._

_“Well, thanks for the invitation, Roan, it’s nice to be here.”_

_“I’m gonna jump right into the interview segment then, if you don’t mind.”_

_“No, not at all.”_

_“So, the big story recently has been your split with 182 Days, the band that got you to where you are. Let’s start there. What can you tell us about that?”_

 

“Here we go,” Clarke said under her breath, steeling herself. Raven and Octavia both laid comforting hands on Clarke’s leg in solidarity. Bellamy locked eyes with her over Raven’s head, giving her an encouraging nod.

 

_"Well, I mean, it was a long time coming to be quite honest with you. We were all developing as musicians, and I think my sound was just developing in a very different direction.”_

 

“A ‘ _long time coming’_ ? What the _fuck_ does _that_ mean?” Raven exclaimed. Octavia shushed her.

 

_“Does that mean that fans can expect to hear more from you in an individual capacity?”_

_“Oh, definitely! I’m going to keep making music as long as there are people who’ll listen to it.”_

_“I suppose this means you’ll be expanding your resume to include lead vocalist as well as guitarist, is that correct?”_

_“Yes! You’ll finally get to actually hear my voice!” Lexa laughed._

 

“Bitch!” Octavia yelled, looking about half a second away from pouncing on the television.

“Implying, of course, that she was never given the opportunity to sing anything other than backup and the harmonies,” Raven seethed, shaking her head. “She knows full well that if she actually wanted to sing lead all she had to do was bring it up.”

Clarke put her wine glass down on the table beside her, fists clenching.

 

_“Speaking of lead singers, let’s talk about Clarke Griffin.”_

_Lexa laughed again. “Naturally.”_

_“For as long as most fans can remember, you two have been dating.”_

_“That’s correct, yes.”_

_“There are a lot of theories going around about this tweet…”_

 

Octavia snickered as Clarke’s ‘good riddance’ tweet popped up on screen. “Iconic.”

 

_“Can you clear up any of that speculation for us?”_

_“I can, Roan. Clarke and I broke up. It was pretty ugly.”_

_“Really? I’m very sorry about that.”_

_“Yeah, I am too.”_

_“Does this have anything to do with your departure from the band?”_

 

Bellamy scoffed, “Wow, straight to it, huh, Roan? Even knowing the _actual_ truth, that sounds kind of tactless.”

“Yeah, well,” Clarke replied. “He’s basically one of _those_ fans. The ones with no concept of personal privacy. Except he has a popular late night talk show and makes a lot of money out of it.”

 

_“It actually does, unfortunately. Clarke didn’t really take things well, if you know what I mean.”_

 

Now, Clarke was the one to scoff.

 

_“Before we break for commercial, is there anything you’d like to say to your former bandmates?”_

_“Yes,” Lexa said, turning to face the camera. “Raven, Octavia… Clarke. I’m sorry I hurt you. But I didn’t mean to. I only meant well. And, really, I think this is all for the best, for all of us. In fact, it’s not only for the best, I think this is just what we all needed. Space to do our own thing. I love you, girls.”_

_“And on that note, we’ll play some games and have some fun with Lexa Leeds, right after this.”_

* * *

 

She couldn’t focus. She couldn’t think. There were only seven words running on repeat through her mind. _This is just what we all needed_.

Clarke had managed to hold herself together long enough to withstand a couple hours of frustrated discussion and Raven and Octavia’s concerned questions. They asked her if she was okay and, as always, she replied yes—even as she felt another piece of her soul burst into flames.

It wasn’t that Clarke didn’t trust her friends. Of course she did. But as hard as she tried, she couldn’t find it within herself to let go—of her thoughts, her memories, her pain.

The pain was her constant. It had been there for as long as she could remember.

Clarke was eleven when her dad died. He had been on his way home from work one evening when he was T-boned by a drunk driver. The police showed up at the front door, and her mother cried. They said he was killed instantly. Clarke didn’t believe them. She just waited. She sat on the bench inside the bay window at the front of their house and waited for her dad to come home.

He didn’t.

One morning, about two weeks after the accident, Clarke walked in on her mom starting to finally move one of her dad’s half-finished art projects off the table to make room for breakfast. That’s when she broke.

Clarke yelled, screamed, and when her mom wrapped her arms around her and tearfully whispered, “ _He’s gone_ ,” she cried. She cried for days. And then—she stopped. She pushed those feelings as far back as she could, burying them under mental images of her father’s face and memories of their summertime paint-a-thons.

There were times since when the pain resurfaced—like a few years later when she found out her mom was dating again, or her freshman year of college when she realized her boyfriend was using her to cheat on his girlfriend of four years.

She learned to channel her pain into productivity—at least, as much of it as she could. She found that writing songs helped. It didn’t lighten her emotional load—not by a long shot. But it helped her communicate that pain in a way she’d never been able to before. It wasn’t just _words_ , it was feelings. Experiences. And that outlet brought Clarke and her friends to where they were today—in a successful band, doing what they loved.

So, Clarke trusted her friends with her pain. She just didn’t trust her pain with her friends. She knew how to bear it—how to pace herself and tread at just the right strength to keep her head above water. It had been there for years and she’d grown used to it by now, but there were still moments—still times like these—where it threatened to overwhelm her. She knew the weight of her own pain, and she refused to let it drag her friends under, too.

Clarke closed the door behind Raven and Octavia, letting out a shaky breath and leaning her forehead against the smooth, cool wood. She breathed in slowly, willing back the tears threatening to fall.

She hated that. She hated being a crier. No matter what she was feeling—happiness, despair, or in this case, seething anger—the tears always came. And in times like these, where rage was the acting element, they always made things worse.

She turned around, mostly composed, and walked over to the counter where her songbook rested, mocking her. She spared a glance at Bellamy, passed out cold on her couch, and sighed.

She could’ve told Octavia to wake him up and take him home, but doing so just felt… wrong. He changed his whole life at the drop of a hat for her—well, not for her per se, but she did benefit. And then tonight… they had formed a truce, okay? She felt like she owed it to him to let him sleep. Just this once.

* * *

 

 

_The song for the following section can be found[here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=anxWSeSLVUI). _

 

* * *

 

Bellamy woke slowly to the sound of tapping, with his face pressed into a surprisingly soft throw pillow. He sat up with a grunt, his exhausted muscles protesting. The tapping stopped, and he looked around expecting to find Raven and his sister in similar variations of unconsciousness. Instead, he just saw Clarke, leaning over her notepad and pen at the counter with her head in her hands.

“Clarke?” Bellamy said gently, his voice still raspy with sleep.

She lowered her arms, folding them over each other and looked over her shoulder at him. “They left hours ago,” she stated simply, then, predicting his next question: “It’s almost four.”

Bellamy looked through the floor-to-ceiling window to darkness—at least, as much darkness as there could be in the city. He stood from Clarke’s couch to get a closer look, admiring the unobscured landscape of Central Park. He whistled. “You know, I thought I’d be over it after a few hours, but… this is one hell of a view.”

“It’s why I picked this place,” Clarke said absently, looking back down to her notebook. “It’s nice to be reminded that despite the chaos of everything happening around you, there’s still calm somewhere in the world.”

Bellamy nodded in contemplation. “That’s good,” he said after a moment, smirking and turning back to face her. “You should write that down.”

When she didn’t respond, he moved to the other edge of the counter, mimicking her posture. “You could’ve kicked me out when O and Raven left,” he said, more of a question than anything.

“Octavia said you worked nights,” she explained simply, still staring at the paper in front of her. “You’ve been up since before you came to her apartment. You needed sleep.”

“Still. You didn’t have to let me stay, especially after… thank you,” he replied. Clarke nodded minutely. He looked at her in concern. “Are you okay?”

Clarke let out an unamused laugh, propping up her notebook with her hand and shaking her head in frustration. “I just—,” she started, harshly cutting herself off.

Bellamy waited for her to continue. When she didn’t, he spoke up. “You can talk to me. If you want to, I mean. You don’t have to but… I’ve been told I’m a good listener. That’s all. It might help.” He shrugged.

Clarke looked over at him, her eyes unreadable, her brows knitted together. After a moment, apparently coming to a decision, her face softened. Then, softly, but not without passion, “I can’t get her out of my head.” She let her notebook fall to the counter again and closed her eyes. Clarke picked up her pen and continued tapping it against the smooth marble.

“I keep trying to write down what I’m feeling, but I…” Clarke shook her head again, lips peeling back in a snarl. “I can’t get her _damn_ _words out of my head_.” She threw her pen across the room for emphasis, dropping her head into her hands again. “It’s playing on repeat, over and over again,” she said, her words slightly muffled.

“Maybe… maybe that’s what you should write down,” Bellamy offered hesitantly. Clarke raised her head, meeting his eyes. She quirked an eyebrow in question. “Use her words, but your emotion. Whatever you’re feeling over what she said—it doesn’t matter what _she_ said. What matters is the way _you_ say it.”

Clarke just looked at him. Bellamy felt his cheeks reddening slightly under her scrutiny. She blinked, her eyes brightening minutely. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.” She reached across the counter, picking up a new pen from the mug she kept them in, and scribbled a few lyrics, making notes in the margins.

Bellamy stood there uncomfortably as she worked. After a minute, he moved back to the couch to pick up his previously discarded jacket. “I guess I should…” He gestured vaguely towards the door. The telltale sound of pen-on-paper stopped suddenly. Clarke gently spoke up behind him.

“She did it all the time.”

Bellamy turned back to her with a questioning look. She was facing him completely now, arms folded across herself.

“Lexa, she’d—,” Clarke cleared her throat, looking away, but taking a step towards him just the same. “She’d say something horrible or… she’d make me feel like… like I was nothing.” Clarke’s voice broke on the last syllable, tears filling her eyes.

Bellamy slowly put his jacket back down.

“And then… she’d lie about it.” Clarke looked up at him, shrugging with a joyless smile. A single tear fell down her cheek. “She’d say she never said it, or I read too much into it, or I took it the wrong way, but… it was never anything that could be taken the wrong way. But she made me _feel_ like it _was_ . She’d apologize for whatever argument we’d had and she’d try to make it up to me, but… then she’d do it all over again. She made me feel like I was… _crazy_ for feeling hurt. Like no one would ever believe me…” Clarke’s lip wobbled, and more tears fell when she blinked and looked away. “So… seeing her. On TV. Telling millions of people…” Her voice cracked, and she pressed her lips together, not saying anymore.

“I believe you.”

Clarke’s breath left her in a _whoosh_ and she closed her eyes, involuntarily letting out a small sob. Bellamy hesitated for half a second before wrapping her in his arms.

Clarke buried her face in the crook of his shoulder, curling into him. He rubbed calming circles on her back with his thumb and kneaded some of the tension from her neck as best he could with the awkward angle.

_This should feel weirder than it does_.

It wasn’t that they didn’t really _know_ each other—they actually knew a _lot_ about each other, now that Bellamy was thinking about it. He knew she played the guitar but refused to play anything but acoustic. He knew she liked far too much sugar in her coffee, but _never under any circumstances_ would she accept creamer. He knew that she didn’t drink blood orange vodka on principle because of that _one_ episode of Project Runway.

It was more that the knowledge they had about each other had never transferred into any sort of companionship before. It was probably his fault, in hindsight. When they first met she was anything but rude—Clarke had actually seemed to want to make a good impression. But instead of accepting her kindness as what is was, he had made some unmemorable snarky comment about her necklace and they launched into the first of countless fights to come.

Oh, what a heartfelt apology and a little forgiveness could do.

Clarke’s wracking sobs slowly turned into a steady flow of tears, then a trickle, then stopped entirely. When she had no more tears to shed, she pulled away awkwardly, smoothing the wrinkles left behind in Bellamy’s shirt from where her hands had clutched it. She laughed gently, catching a glimpse of the dark splotches her tears had left in the soft cotton.

“Sorry. That was… a lot to unload on you.”

“I don’t mind,” he said genuinely.

She gave him a small smile and self-consciously returned to the counter, picking up her notebook and plopping herself down onto the couch. Bellamy didn’t move, still thinking through what she’d just told him.

“You can stay,” Clarke said absently, draping a throw blanket over her legs. Then, her eyes widening, “If you want! I mean, you don’t have to. It’s just… it’s late. Well, early. What I’m saying is…”

Bellamy smiled, sitting on the opposite end, and effectively cutting her off. She tossed him the other end of her blanket. “Thanks, Princess.”

Soon, they were both asleep, the glow of the TV shining on their faces, and the hushed sound of BBC’s _Planet Earth_ filling the silence.

* * *

 

* * *

 

“You two really waste no time, do you?” Octavia smirked as Clarke and Bellamy entered the studio, waving her phone in their faces. “Clarke Griffin spotted leaving apartment _grasping_ the hand of _Mystery Man_ ,” she read dramatically, as if she were in a bad soap opera.

Clarke rolled her eyes. “I was pulling your brother away from the paparazzi.”

“Is there a difference?” Octavia asked, grabbing her water bottle from her bag and taking a sip.

“Let’s not get philosophical now, Osmosis,” Raven added, setting her bass in its stand.

“If touching hands equals true love,” Bellamy said, looking at Clarke. “I shudder to think what _hugging_ means.”

“Sex,” Clarke replied, without missing a beat. “Obviously.”

“In that case, I guess we _did_ have quite the night.”

Octavia choked on her water.

Now Raven was the one to roll her eyes. “Did you call us here to actually _do_ something, or did you just want to flirt with an audience?”

Clarke pulled out her notebook from the bag slung over her shoulder. “I have an idea for a new song, and I wanted to see what you guys thought of it before I write the rest.”

Raven’s eyes lit up. “Ooh, yes, lay it on us, Griffin.”

Clarke hesitated briefly. “Indra’s not going to like it.”

“Even better,” Octavia said, nearly bouncing with excitement.

Clarke folded the cover back and flipped to the page she wanted. She handed the book to her friends and stood back while they read over the lyrics, chewing her bottom lip.

“Ho-ly shit,” Raven said, a small smile on her face.

“This is _so_ shady,” Octavia said. “ _I love it._ ”

Clarke broke into a grin and looked over at Bellamy.

He shrugged, the corners of his mouth quirking up. “I told you you were onto something.”

“What did you have in mind for the bassline?” Raven asked.

“That’s… why Indra won’t like it. And another reason I wanted to talk to you guys about it. I want to do it acapella.”

“Wait, seriously?” Octavia asked, not unkindly.

“Yeah. I was thinking after last night, and… you guys have amazing voices. It’s a shame so many people are missing out on that.”

“She got into your head,” Raven said. It wasn’t a question.

“No, I—”

“Clarke,” Raven interrupted. “I meant what I said before. You’re not holding us back. I can’t speak for Octavia, but if I ever want my voice to be more front and center, I’ll tell you.”

“I second that,” Octavia added. “But, that being said—if you want this song acapella… I’m all for it. Plus, it’d be a huge ‘fuck you’ to Lexa. Just saying.” Raven nodded.

Clarke breathed out a sigh of relief. “Okay then. Let’s try it.”

“I’m, uh,” Bellamy spoke up. “I’m gonna sit out for the whole… vocals thing. If you don’t mind.”

“What, why?” Raven questioned.

“I just don’t… I mean I can’t… I’m—”

“You have a great voice, Bell, what’s up?” Octavia asked.

“If he doesn’t want to sing,” Clarke stepped in, “he doesn’t want to sing. It’s not a big deal.”

Bellamy looked at Clarke gratefully. “I can record your rehearsal if you want. For future reference.”

“That’s an awesome idea. Thanks, Bellamy.”

When the trio was finally happy with the sound of the song, Bellamy showed them the video he took. It started off pointed at the ceiling before panning down to the group, where the women stood in a circle vocalizing.

“Nice camerawork,” Clarke said.

“Okay, this is amazing,” Octavia said, somewhat disbelieving. “We’re posting this, right? We _have_ to post this.”

“Oh,” Raven said, a devious look in her eyes. “We’re posting it."

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi on [Tumblr](http://fen-ha-fuck-you.tumblr.com) if you want. Feedback is always appreciated :)
> 
> P.S. The song the trio is singing can be found [here.](https://youtu.be/Y4OLQB7ON9w?t=2m55s)
> 
> Also, check out my betas, [Savannah,](http://for-the-grey-wardens.tumblr.com) and [Annie](http://clarkescrusade.tumblr.com).


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